


A Domestic Affair

by implicated2



Category: Golden Girls
Genre: F/F, Humor, Misses Clause Challenge, Polyamory, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 12:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/implicated2/pseuds/implicated2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blanche's favorite thing about going on dates is telling Dorothy about them afterwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Domestic Affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Makioka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makioka/gifts).



> With thanks to [killer_quean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/killer_quean) for beta-reading.

There were plenty of things Blanche enjoyed about having a man over for the evening, but her favorite part was starting to be right after he left. She'd usher Albert from the bank or Lawrence who loved the opera back into his clothes, kiss him goodnight in her teal silk robe, lock the door behind him, and then sit back on the sofa, relaxed and content.

A few minutes later, Dorothy would come downstairs.

“Well?” Dorothy asked, after Willard-who'd-jump-started-Blanche's-car had made his exit.

“Well, I certainly jump-started his engine,” Blanche said with a sly smile. 

“Oh?” Dorothy asked.

Blanche couldn't help but continue. “And he certainly took me for a ride.”

Dorothy stared at her. “Blanche, I'm starting to think you slept with a Buick.”

Blanche laughed. “Well, he's built like one,” she said. Willard was big and sturdy, the kind of man who could carry her across a threshold if the occasion arose. “But,” she added conspiratorially, “he's clingy.”

Dorothy nodded sagely. “Good traction.” 

He'd taken her to a little French restaurant with chocolate mousse to die for. In bed, he'd been earnest if not particularly effective, and he'd barely caught his breath before asking Blanche when he could see her again. She'd been a little bit embarrassed for him, though part of her couldn't help looking forward to telling Dorothy.

“Blanche,” Dorothy said, when the story was over. “Do you actually enjoy these dates?”

Blanche's mind flashed to the restaurant, to Willard opening her car door, to the pair of them naked in bed together. Oh yes, she had enjoyed herself. She always did. “Well, of course,” she told Dorothy. “But do you know what my favorite part is?” She leaned toward Dorothy on the sofa.

“It sounds like this time, it might have been the chocolate mousse.”

Blanche scowled. “No,” she said, “It's talking about it afterward with you.”

A strange look flickered over Dorothy's face then. For a moment, Blanche couldn't place what she saw, but she'd had too many suitors in her life to miss the signs completely. She was sure of it: Dorothy had fallen in love with her.

 

Well, dang and blast it all. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened, and it wouldn't be the last. It just wasn't fair to be as charming and witty and attractive as Blanche was. People started to want things you couldn't give them. Sitting at the kitchen table the next morning, Blanche stabbed her spoon into her cereal bowl. There was no way around it. She was going to break Dorothy's heart. 

“Good morning, Blanche.” The door swung open, and Rose walked into the kitchen. She frowned when she saw Blanche's face. “What's wrong? You look upset.”

Blanche sighed grandly. “I am upset, Rose.”

“What happened?” Rose asked. Her brows furrowed in the direction of the cereal bowl, and she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Is it your Grape Nuts?”

Blanche stared at Rose. Leave it to Rose to come up with the most absurd suggestions in the face of something absolutely serious. “No,” Blanche said, pushing her cereal aside. “I'm upset because of Dorothy.”

Rose frowned. “Dorothy?”

Blanche made her tone serious. “Rose,” she said. “Dorothy has fallen in love with me.”

Blanche could see the emotions flickering across Rose's face: surprise, confusion, disbelief, more confusion. She sighed. Rose could be so... provincial sometimes. “Rose,” Blanche said slowly, “women can have feelings for other women.” 

“I know that,” Rose said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Dorothy's friend Jean fell in love with me, remember? And there was a woman in St. Olaf who... well, she fell in love with a cow, but the cow was female. Though, of course, all cows are female, so maybe—” 

“Rose!” Blanche put her forehead in her hand. She should have known it was useless to talk to Rose about this.

“Blanche,” Rose said slowly. “Dorothy has had feelings for you as long as we've lived here. Haven't you noticed?”

Now that Blanche thought about it, the signs were everywhere. “Do you know, Rose,” she said. “I think you're right.” 

“Well—” Rose began. 

“Do you remember, years ago,” Blanche said. Puzzle pieces were snapping into place in her mind. “I used to have that green dress with the spangles? Low-cut, accentuated my figure?” Blanche could feel herself sit up straighter just remembering herself in that dress. She had looked spectacular. 

Rose nodded.

“Well, with a body like mine, you start to be able to feel it when someone's looking at you. And Dorothy—”

Blanche broke off as the door to the kitchen swung open and Sophia entered the room. “Sophia,” she said, putting on her warmest smile. “We were just talking about—”

“I heard what you were talking about,” Sophia cut in. “And I looked at Larry Cherkowski next door's butt when he came out to water the lawn in his underwear. Doesn't mean I'm in love with him.”

Or maybe Rose was wrong. If anyone knew about Dorothy's feelings, it was Sophia. “So you don't think Dorothy has feelings for me?” 

“Of course she has feelings for you,” Sophia snapped back. “You're just figuring that out? I've met goldfish more observant than you.”

“Well, I didn't expect—” Blanche started to argue, but there was no point in denying she'd missed it. “Sophia, what should I do?”

“Same thing you do with everyone else,” Sophia said, pouring herself a handful of vitamins. “She could use a good time after thirty years married to the human lump of cardboard.”

Well, the idea had certainly crossed Blanche's mind. She liked Dorothy, and she could certainly show her a good time. But the problem with people falling in love with you was they always wanted to be the only one. Blanche might _want_ Dorothy, but she _needed_ variety. She was glad she had a date with Earl-the-landscaper later. Nothing was a better distraction from her troubles than an evening with a man. Besides, she'd get to tell Dorothy about him afterwards. 

 

“He took it out in the _car_ ,” Blanche announced. Oh, this was a good one. Blanche couldn't help herself—the second she'd looked over from the passenger seat and seen Earl sitting there with his pants down, she'd been looking forward to sharing the whole story with Dorothy. When Dorothy had padded down the stairs in a lavender terrycloth robe, Blanche had felt herself light up, despite everything.

Dorothy didn't crack a smile. “And what did you do about it?”

“Oh,” Blanche said warmly, “I rolled down my pantyhose and we went at it in the backseat like a pair of teenagers.” She giggled, but it dried up when Dorothy's expression stayed stony.

“Blanche,” Dorothy said finally. “Why did my mother tell me you had—and I quote—'gotten wise to that schoolgirl crush of yours'?”

Blanche's eyes narrowed. “Because she's a busybody who can't keep her mouth shut?”

Dorothy's voice was flat. “And what, exactly, should she be keeping her mouth shut about?” 

Well, she may as well come clean about it. “That is...” Blanche said, trying to be gentle. “I got the sense you might have.... developed feelings for me. I didn't mean for Sophia to hear anything. I was talking to Rose about it and she walked in.”

“You were talking to _Rose_ about my feelings for you?”

Blanche gave a short laugh. It came out twittering and false. “Well,” she said, “it just sort of popped out.”

“Like Earl.” 

Blanche looked at her, surprised, and Dorothy managed a wry smile. Then silence stretched out between them again.

“Look, Blanche,” Dorothy said, giving a long sigh. “The truth is, you're right.”

Blanche looked up sharply.

“I do have feelings for you,” Dorothy said. “And I'm sorry.”

“No, I'm sorry,” Blanche said. “I wish—” She frowned. When had everything gotten so complicated? “I just don't think it would work.”

“I understand,” Dorothy said, her tone heavy. 

There were a few more awkward minutes of silence before Dorothy excused herself and went to bed. Blanche waited on the sofa for a minute longer, then went upstairs herself.

 

Later that week, Blanche had a date with Andrew the entertainment lawyer, but no one came to talk to her when he left. 

 

After seeing Pablo the sculptor to the door, Blanche heard footsteps on the stairs. She almost swooned with relief, but when she looked, it was only Rose. “Rose,” Blanche said, adjusting her robe. “What are you doing up?”

Rose yawned, squinting into the living room. “I couldn't sleep,” she said. “I had a dream about you and Dorothy.”

Blanche sighed. She had hoped the whole house couldn't tell how strained things had become between the two of them. “Oh?” she said. “What happened?”

Rose looked thoughtful. “Well,” she said, “we were all at the zoo. And you were still you, but you were a turtle, and Dorothy was a zebra. There was a bad man there snatching purses, only, the way he snatched a purse was by knocking you over and pulling your hair. Only, you didn't have hair, because you were a turtle, so—” 

“Rose!” Blanche knew it was bad manners to interrupt, but she couldn't stand another minute of this irrelevant dream talk.

Rose stopped talking, and Blanche lowered her own voice. “Rose, I'm disappointed.”

“You wanted to be the zebra?”

Blanche let her breath out in a huff. “No, Rose,” she said. “I'm disappointed about Dorothy.”

“You didn't want her to be a zebra either?”

“No, Rose!” Blanche almost stamped her foot. “I miss her. I know she needs her space, and I know we'll still be close, but...” She trailed off, then sat up straighter in her chair, putting the back of her hand to her forehead. “Oh, Rose, I wish Dorothy and I _could_ be lovers.”

“You do?” Rose looked confused. “But... then why can't you?”

“Because, Rose,” Blanche said, resting her chin miserably in her hand. “You know I'm not the type to settle down with just one person.”

Rose frowned. “Is that what Dorothy wants? To settle down with just you?”

Blanche sniffed tragically. “Isn't that what everybody wants? Everybody except me?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Rose said, and for a moment, Blanche expected her to tell a story about a woman in St. Olaf who loved a whole herd of cows. “Have you talked to Dorothy about what she wants?” Rose asked instead.

“Well, no,” Blanche admitted. But why even bother? She knew how these things went.

“Then I think you should ask her,” Rose said.

“Well, thank you, Rose,” Blanche sniffed, trying not to sound too snippy. She hardly needed romantic advice from _Rose_. Besides, when could she ask? Dorothy had been avoiding her ever since the night Earl had dropped his pants in his Nissan Sentra.

 

Blanche was eating cereal at the breakfast table a few days later when Dorothy poured herself a bowl of her own and sat down. She still didn't say good morning, but it was the longest the two of them had spent in a room together in over a week. 

“Dorothy,” Blanche said, stirring her spoon through her Grape Nuts. “We're doing the right thing, aren't we?”

Dorothy only half looked at her. Her voice sounded tired. “What right thing, Blanche?” she asked. “Using fresh milk instead of that carton at the back of the fridge? That thing had practically grown legs.”

“No,” Blanche said, lowering her voice. “By not acting on our feelings.”

That made Dorothy look at her. “What do you mean, _our feelings_?”

“I mean, I just don't think it would work. It's not that I'm not... attracted to you—” Blanche realized she was fingering the neckline of her sweater and stopped herself. “But I wouldn't be able to give up having dates with other people.”

Dorothy stared at her. “And you think I want you to give up having dates? Blanche, that would be like telling Frank Sinatra I like him, but only if he'd shut his mouth and stop singing.”

Blanche frowned. “You... wouldn't want me to give up dating?”

“And you are... interested?”

Blanche nodded eagerly. 

“Well,” Dorothy said slowly, “that's a relief.”

“It is, isn't it?” Blanche said, with a winning smile, and then she reached under the table and put her hand on Dorothy's thigh.

She could feel Dorothy tense up, then relax under the weight of Blanche's hand. The kitchen grew silent then, but a different kind of silence than there had been between them before. Blanche caught Dorothy's eye, then tilted her head seductively. She could hear Dorothy swallow next to her. Blanche's own heart was starting to flutter. 

“Dorothy Zbornak,” Blanche said, making her voice low and sultry. “If you don't kiss me right this instant—” 

But she didn't have to finish her threat, because Dorothy leaned in and did as she was asked. 

 

A few exquisite minutes later, the door swung open.

“Thank god almighty,” Sophia said, as Blanche and Dorothy pulled quickly away from each other. “It's about time you two stopped moping around like a pair of wet rats.”

“Thank you, Ma,” Dorothy said mildly. “We appreciate your support.”

Sophia snorted. “How's this for support? Blanche, you hurt my daughter again and I'll bash your face in with a hammer.”

Dorothy put her arm around Blanche's shoulders. “I'll be sure to keep the toolbox out of her reach.” She looked back at Blanche. “What are you doing later tonight?”

Blanche squeezed Dorothy's thigh warmly, then frowned, remembering. “I have a date with Carl from the travel agency.” 

Dorothy sighed. “All right. Maybe tomorrow, then?”

“That could work,” Blanche said. “But I'm free right now, if you like.” She twirled a finger in her hair and looked up at Dorothy. 

Dorothy nodded vigorously. 

“Rose,” Sophia called into the living room, “My friend Mabel is hosting a bingo game in half an hour. Why don't you come with me?”

Rose frowned as she walked into the kitchen. “I don't know,” she said. “Bingo's such a sad game. I always feel sorry for the numbers that don't get called.”

Everyone stared at her.

“Sophia,” Blanche said, with a winning smile, “you don't have to give us the house to ourselves.”

“The hell I don't. I'm happy for you, don't get me wrong, but if I have to hear my daughter making love in my own house, I might fall down dead of a heart attack.”

“Rose,” Dorothy said, “you don't have to go.”

“Yes she does,” Sophia said. “I need her to catch me when I fall.”

“Ma.” Dorothy rolled her eyes. “You're not going to hear anything from Mabel's house. She lives two streets away.”

Blanche looked slyly up at her. “Don't be so sure.”

Dorothy's grip tightened on Blanche's shoulder. “Rose, go with my mother. Maybe you can comfort the numbers they don't call.”

“Poor B-11,” Rose crooned. “It'll be your turn one day.”

“You see what I put up with for you?” Sophia asked Dorothy.

Dorothy rolled her eyes. “It's a wonder you haven't been sainted yet.”

“A hammer, I tell you,” Sophia said menacingly, pointing at Blanche.

“Don't worry,” Blanche told her. “I can be gentle.” She looked at Dorothy and winked. “Sometimes.”

 

Later that night, Carl took Blanche to a restaurant on the top floor of a hotel where they could look out over the city lights. Then she took him home for a different sort of dazzling view.

After seeing Carl to the door, Blanche lay back on the sofa, her body relaxed. She sat there for a long time in silence, and then, after she'd almost given up hoping for it, she heard the soft pad of Dorothy's house slippers on the stairs.

Blanche beckoned her over, and Dorothy sat down beside her. Blanche batted her eyelashes. She couldn't help but remember what they'd done in Dorothy's bed earlier that afternoon. She hoped they'd do it again soon. Maybe even tonight.

“Well,” Dorothy asked softly. “How did it go with Carl?”

Blanche told her. She told her about the restaurant and the skyline, and the part afterwards, when she'd taken Carl home. “But,” she added. “Do you know what the best part was?”

Dorothy raised an eyebrow. “Was it the part where you shouted 'oh, God, yes'? Or was that just the loudest part?”

Blanche gave Dorothy a playful slap on the shoulder. “Well,” she said, fanning herself with her other hand. “That was awfully nice.”

Dorothy smiled, and Blanche felt a shiver go through her.

“But,” Blanche added, shifting her weight to lean against Dorothy. “I like this part too.”

Dorothy wrapped an arm around Blanche's shoulders. “This part?”

“The part,” Blanche said, “where I tell you all about it, and then I take you to bed with me.”

Dorothy laughed. “Do you mean take me to bed or, well, _take me to bed_?”

“Your choice,” Blanche answered, giving her best seductive smile.

Dorothy shook her head in disbelief. “Forget my mother, Blanche, you're going to give _me_ a heart attack.”

Blanche frowned. Maybe she was coming on too strong. “Would you have me any other way?” she asked.

“Of course not,” Dorothy said, and then she took Blanche by the hand and led her upstairs.


End file.
